


That One Week in Philly

by MFLuder



Category: DC Extended Universe, Justice League - All Media Types, Shazam! (2019)
Genre: Behind the Scenes, Gen, Post-Justice League (2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-02-15 18:32:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18675157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MFLuder/pseuds/MFLuder
Summary: Where, exactly, was the newly formed Justice League during those magical events in Philadelphia?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been waiting since the first time I saw those panels in [Superman/Shazam: First Thunder (2006)](https://mf-luder-xf.tumblr.com/post/179559145555/magistrate-of-mediocrity-fipindustries) to write this.
> 
> BVS made matchmaking!Alfred a thing and it’s probably going to be my favorite part of DCEU canon forever.
> 
> You can read pre-slash SuperBat if you squint, but I tried to keep it as canon-based as possible.

It’s a cold Thursday afternoon in December when Bruce’s phone rings during a board meeting. He glances down as the room goes silent around him. He heaves an internal sigh – he’d been about to propose some new green technology based on R&D’s recent work with the Mother Box – but it looks like he is going to miss the presentation.

He holds up a finger. “I am so sorry. I have to take this call. Lucius?” he nods to his CFO who smoothly steps to the head of the room and continues where Bruce left off.

“Darling,” Bruce drawls as he steps out of the conference room, heading to his office, loosening his tie while he’s at it.

“Oh, I really wish you wouldn’t insist on that,” came Alfred’s crisp voice. “I can think of a few better people suited for it. Miss Prince perhaps?”

“I’d call the boy scout that before I dared call her that,” Bruce mutters as he makes his way through the glass doors of his private corner office.

“He’s another fine option,” Alfred retorts, and Bruce rolls his eyes.

“You better not have called to suggest who I should take to the next gala.”

“Heavens, no. I’m looking more long term.”

“Alfred,” Bruce growls, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, yes. Another time. Right now, I think you should turn on the news, sir.”

Bruce puts the phone between his ear and shoulder and clicks the remote for the big screen. WGN’s logo pops up and an aerial shot of a glass skyscraper is shown.

“—here in Philadelphia, at the site of Sivana’s headquarters. Although we cannot be sure of what is happening, it seems that there has either been a suicide or an attack. So far, one man has come through the glass window. Again, at this point, we do not know exactly what has occurred. Sivana Industries, a corporation best known for their medical technologies and pharmaceutical research, especially in infertility, has always been a family-oriented business. Still staffed by Mr. Sivana himself and his CFO and son, Sid Sivana, the business has grown into a multi-billion multi-national in the last thirty-five years. Now, back to the scene. We have an expert with us, Doctor Sams, who says all the evidence so far suggests the man who fell from Sivana Industries was not a suicide, but rather, given the force of his body propelled from the window, has to have been pushed. Doctor Sams; elaborate.”

“Yes, Nancy, so—”

Bruce tunes out the talking heads, focusing on the image. The glass had been shattered from the inside, that much was clear. Doctor Sams was most likely correct – unless a super-powered being themselves, no one was jumping through that kind of glass. Somehow, this involved metahumans.

“You see now why I called, sir.”

“Is everyone accounted for?”

“All tracking systems place League members far from Philadelphia.”

“Do we have any additional footage of what’s going on?”

“I’m afraid not. Wayne Industries doesn’t have a presence in Philadelphia, due to, I believe, corporate tax rates. Nor do we own any of the local media outlets.”

“Hmm,” Bruce considers. “Thank you, Alfred. I’ll be home soon.”

“Should I prep the jet?”

“No. I’ve got a better idea.”

“Very good.”

With that, Bruce hangs up and dials another number, hesitating only a moment. 

“Clark Kent,” says the soft-spoken voice. Bruce can practically hear Clark readjusting his glasses on his face as he ‘struggles’ to balance phone and typing at the same time.

“Clark. How fast can you convince Perry to send you on a flight to Philadelphia?”

Two moment’s silence stretches out over the phone. It seems Bruce has taken him by surprise.

“I suppose if interesting enough, I could be on the next flight out after I made it to the airport. Or do you mean flying from…” Clark trails off.

“No, the airport would be alright. I need you to do some journalism. I’m sure you’ve seen it by now. Philadelphia?”

“Yes.”

“I could use some eyes and ears on the ground.”

Another moment’s silence. Then, “I’ll be there in a lickety-split.”

Bruce holds the phone away from his face and grimaces at it. “That’s taking it too far, Clark.”

A deep chuckle is his response. “I’ll let you know when I’m there.”

“See that you do,” Bruce states and ends the call.

~~~

At first, they have nothing. By the time Clark had gotten to the scene, everyone in that board room had been brutally murdered, torn apart as if by wild beasts, but with no conclusive evidence. There had only been one witness aside from those who saw the man thrown to the ground, but that man hadn’t seen much. He rambled on about Thaddeus Sivana, but aside from having a name, Clark hadn’t gotten anything else from the man.

Nonetheless, Bruce did a deep dive into Thaddeus and came up with deafening silence aside from the fact that he was George Sivana’s son. It seemed after a car accident over forty years prior, Sivana’s second son, only twelve at the time, had been quietly left out of family and business dealings. The one other bit of information was a record of a doctorate in psychology; he seemingly hadn’t remained in the academic community post degree though, as he had no publications aside from his dissertation.

It could mean either the accident had led to powers, or that Thaddeus was being controlled by someone or something; it could mean any number of things, but what it wasn’t, was an indicator of what they were dealing with.

Batman waited with frustrated poise for them to get some answers.

~~~

After another week, they got lucky. Well, Clark, the League, the _world_ got lucky as suddenly the YouTube channel HeroManager popped up and began posting “test” videos of an apparent new metahuman.

Bruce attempted to trace the videos origins, but aside from the geotag that told him Philadelphia, the videos were all uploaded on an iPhone and moved around the city. The phone also seemed to have some personalized software that prevented Bruce from a clean hack like he’d be able to do to, for example, Clark’s phone. Not that Bruce would ever tell him that.

This didn’t stop Bruce; give him time and the terminal would crack it, but it clearly wasn’t going to be the fastest route.

Instead, he moves to analysis. Perhaps the oddest thing about the videos was the handwritten title cards and the sheer exuberance on the man’s face. He was, simply put, having fun. He also had no qualms about putting himself out there. Unlike Clark who’d spent decades hiding his powers, secretly helping common people, this guy was actively showing both strengths and weaknesses. 

Bruce can’t help but wonder if this guy would always have been like this, or if there was something that allowed him to be so open and free after Superman’s rise. Heroes were known now. A god had died and come back to life. A warrior princess walked the land of men.

Perhaps it was only time before other metas emerged for personal gain.

Bruce frowns and keeps watching.

~~~

Reports soon came through – some even by Clark – that the “hero” was charging cell phones and having selfie photo ops with fans. Bruce was stunned by the odd behavior.

“It’s like he’s a child,” he complains to Clark one night on the phone.

“He reminds me of Barry,” Clark responds. 

“Yes. A child.”

“Just because you’re an old man of forty-something doesn’t make Barry a child,” Clark admonishes.

Bruce glowers, staring at the terminal which currently displays several of the selfies that had popped up all over Instagram. The man’s face was right out there, and _still_ facial recognition wasn’t getting any hits. “Even you can’t keep up with him, Clark.”

“Hey, now. We’ve never put that to the test.”

He smirks at the defensiveness Clark’s tone suggests. He whirls around in his chair to face the rest of the cave, suit on and ready to patrol for the night. “I mean, the kid’s power is speed. I’d hope he could beat you.”

“He uses the speed _force_. I just have speed. Technically, I am physically faster.”

“Is that jealousy, I sense?” Bruce asks.

Clark sighs. “You know, Perry isn’t going to let me be here much longer. Given this guy isn’t Metropolis’ hero, _The Planet_ isn’t that interested.”

“Seems kind of biased to me.”

“I don’t make the rules. This guy hasn’t done anything really exciting yet. Perry’s itching to get me on another story.”

“Stay as long as you can. We’ll see.”

“Night, Bruce.”

Bruce hung up.

~~~

The next day, Perry got his wish when the guy saved a bus. TV reporters still had failed to establish a name for him with some reporters calling him Red Cyclone – which had had Barry whining when he stopped in – while others called him Power Boy, some simply “local superhero.” Bruce’s personal favorite was the one attached to the YouTube videos; somehow, Captain Sparkle Fingers seemed to fit the metahuman’s personality.

Bruce was watching it on Galaxy Broadcasting System’s local affiliate and called Clark.

“Are you there?”

“Yeah. I wanted to wait, but I wanted to be there. In case.”

In case the metahuman hadn’t turned out to be so much a hero.

“He’s definitely new. He got caught arguing with a kid. What kind of man argues with a kid?”

Bruce makes a vaguely interested sound, still watching the coverage.

“Oh shit,” Clark says.

Bruce breathes out. A man in a black coat and sunglasses has suddenly flown onto the scene. He appeared much more stoic and capable than the Captain. He also appears to be a very cliché villain.

Bruce pauses the feed and in an instant, he has facial recognition up and there’s a match: Thaddeus Sivana. He’s gained a scar over one eye.

“That’s Sivana,” Bruce tells Clark. “Something about these two suggests a link. The Captain showed up less than a week after Sivana’s attack on his family.”

“He called him ‘Champion’.”

Clark’s super hearing. 

“You think they know each other?”

Bruce listened to the tell-tale sounds of Clark shaking his head against the phone, a rustle of curls. “No. But this feels like my Zod moment.”

“Hold back. Let’s see what he’s capable of.”

They watch together, Bruce on the Philadelphia feed, Clark in person. The other man is so quiet, Bruce is able to make out conversations happening around, the yells and general chaos as two metahumans fight.

“He’s doing better than you did.”

Bruce imagines the vaguely annoyed expression on Clark’s face and smirks. 

“I don’t know what the guy in black’s powers are – Sivana – but he’s no Kryptonian.” A pause. “Besides, there’s still some property damage. Looks like they’re heading to the mall.” There’s another silence then Clark drawls, “There’s definitely some damage now. They just crashed through the roof.”

“Perhaps Wayne Enterprises will have to move further inland. Provide some relief money. Set up a field office. Especially if this ‘hero’ decides to stay.”

Clark chuckles. “The world would be terrified of your surveillance state powers if they knew.”

“There’s a reason they don’t.”

“Hmm. As a reporter, I have some things to say.”

“I’m sure you do,” Bruce responds dryly. “Fortunately, I don’t have the time. You know if you need to step in. I’ve got a meeting. And Clark?”

“Yes?”

“Your Zod moment. Really.”

He delivers it as mockingly as he can while keeping his pitch consistent and then hangs up, clutching the phone in his fist for a moment, allowing himself the barest of smiles.

~~~

Diana visits him the next day.

“Magic,” he states, after she’s given her spiel.

She nods. Her hair is up today, but the usually perfect curls have frizzed the slightest bit; she flew here, though she is not in costume. Instead, she’s wearing a bright white pantsuit that seems to carry its own light around the cave.

Bruce wonders how, as a creature of night, he’s managed to attract so many beings of light to him. He wonders why he is so drawn to them, when darkness has always been his solace.

Until Clark.

He tunes back in to Diana.

“—the Rock of Eternity. Once known to my people, it has vanished. But this place was a source of magic. Zeus had been known to travel there. It was governed by the Council of Eternity, though they too disappeared when we lost contact with it during the war of the Seven Deadly Enemies of Man.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Bruce is a smart man, he knows this. But right now, he feels like he’s listening to someone try to explain Game of Thrones in PowerPoint format without the house lines drawn out. Too many names with too little context.

Diana smiles benevolently. “Where are you lost, Bruce?”

He grunts. “All of it.”

“You must realize when I say ‘we,’ I do not speak of myself but the Amazonians. I was created after Ares attempted to destroy humanity – but that was not the only war mankind fought. As Atlantis disappeared, so too have many previous civilizations. Hippolyta told me of the battle against the Seven Deadly Enemies. Later, Ares would use the seed they had laid to spread his own form of greed, wrath, and horror amongst humanity. The gods fought alongside the Council at that time, as most pantheons collaborated in some form, but while the war was won, the Council and the Rock of Eternity vanished. 

“I tell you this, because while I did not live through that war, its genetic memory is imprinted in me and I instantly recognized the actions of the Seven, despite their limited influence at the moment.”

Bruce drums his fingers on the terminal desk. “Basically, you’re saying that there is a personification of the seven deadly sins that physically exist. And that they have somehow been released from a captivity that has lasted longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Yes.”

“And there are…wizards?”

“’Wizards’ is the closest approximation in English.”

He sighs and turns back to stare at the terminal. A blurry image of Sivana on the screen causes him to shiver, too reminiscent of the last black blur that killed thousands.

“What can we do? Did your mother ever tell you how they won the war?”

“The Council had a champion. She never named him beyond that. He was said to hold many powers, including wisdom, strength, speed, and bravery unseen by any but the gods. She never said, but looking back, I suspect that champion was human.”

“Human…but with magical powers.”

She considers. “I believe so.”

“Clark said Sivana called the Philadelphia local hero ‘Champion’.”

“Then perhaps, we will not have to step in.”

“Either way, this presents a problem. The League was meant to fight powers like this.”

“Yet, only I have any knowledge of magic,” she continues for him.

He nods. “Even that—”

“You did not believe in magic before. I wonder why, Bruce, when you have seen some glimpse of my past?”

Bruce looks at her, perched on the corner of his desk. She is taking no offense to his comments, she is only curious why he didn’t believe. “You are still…you still fit the typology of metahuman. Long-living, yes. Strong. You have tools that any primitive might suggest were magic, but I grew up knowing, learning, that magic was only technology that could not be explained. I have lived with many cultures whose ways might be explained as magic or described as mysticism – yet each time, I came to know the science behind them. Even Superman – his biology, from another corner of the universe, interacts differently to energy and light waves. But it’s still _science_.” 

The last part comes out in a hiss; he is frustrated. Bruce considers himself to be an open-minded individual, willing to flow with paradigm shifts, to accept new information, to check his own confirmation bias. But _magic_ is the least logical thing he has come across.

Diana’s stare is all-knowing. “Perhaps, had that mysticism been real, you could have brought your parents back.”

He turns his head away, one hand tight against the arm of the chair. He says nothing because he knows it won’t be kind, but Diana is being nothing but kind.

He can see her reflection in the computer, eyes soft, mouth quirked up at the corners. She’s allowing him his silence. “When I say gods, you consider them metahumans. Zeus as some kind of advanced human – alien, perhaps – rather than the way most of the world considers gods such as the Christian God.

“I suppose that is what the gods might have been. I was created by them but have yet to meet any beyond Ares. He was indeed powerful, but so is Kal. Perhaps you are right. Nonetheless, magic could be considered its own form of technology – with its own set of rules and nuances. Linux to Mac.” 

“The only question is whether or not we can learn it, like I can learn different computer operating systems,” Bruce concludes, his voice deeper than he intends.

Diana stands, rising gracefully. Her long legs stretch in front of him, her heels clicking on the rock floor. Somehow, she hasn’t gained one wrinkle or smudge on her suit. “I suspect we will, at least, need a translator. Should this champion win the battle, we may need to seek his presence on the League. If he does not, we shall need to be prepared to save humanity.”

“Again,” Bruce said, the smile not physical but implied in his tone.

Diana’s smile was very physical, though it fades rather quick. “I admit, it would be useful to be able to visit Themyscira now, to ask my mother for more concrete research on the Council and this champion. But I fear I have been gone too long for a short trip. When I return, it will be for some time.”

Bruce understands the sorrow that underlays her words.

“Thank you, Diana.”

“You and Kal know how to get ahold of me if you require assistance.” She turns away from him, ready to leave. Then she turns back. “Are you alright?” she asks.

Bruce shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and flicking away the stray gray that he pulls out. “I just learned magic is a real thing. That wizards are a thing. Like a comic book.” He pauses. “Or Harry Potter.”

His heart aches and he clenches his fist against it. Bruce knows one person whose reaction to magic being real would have been nothing but unadulterated joy, gray-blue eyes alight with excitement.

Then he thinks, fuck, _she’d_ been right all along.

“ _Will_ you be alright?” Diana corrects, breaking him out of his headspace, her head tilted; she’s honestly curious. He also knows she means more than his existential crisis over magic.

He chuckles. It’s a little rough, a little strangled, but still real. “I just need to apologize to someone.”

Diana looks at him for another moment, serene, even more curious. When he fails to offer further response after a minute, she nods and walks upstairs to leave.

When he’s seen her pass through the front door, offering Alfred her goodbyes and a coy look right into the camera before she pushes off from the ground, Bruce picks up his phone. He plays with it for a minute, tapping it against his chin in thought. It’s been a long time.

Eventually, he scrolls down his contacts to the very bottom and pushes call.

~~~

They don’t get much of a reprieve. The next night, Bruce answers a call from Clark.

He’s been tracking Superman, of course. There’d been an uptick in small crimes being stopped in Philadelphia, but it wasn’t the only place. There’d been an earthquake in England, weak, but some property damage. A large cartel bust down in Mexico – which wasn’t normally something Superman did, but Bruce had discovered through contacts that the cartel had been selling local woman and girls to Venezuelan officials in exchange for illegal oil shipments. He’d sent Superman because Bruce felt the old anger and bloodlust boiling at the images his contact had sent. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself.

Besides, it took Superman an hour or so to fly there; it was faster than the Batwing, especially given the Philadelphia situation.

Clark, though, they hadn’t spoken since the bus scene, although Bruce had sent a paragraph summary of Diana’s information via encrypted email.

“Bruce,” Clark says. He sounds upset.

“Clark?” Bruce’s body is instantly tense. He moves his hand to the remote for the Batwing. It would only take twenty minutes from suit up to arrival.

“He’s a boy. Just a _child_.”

“Clark, who? What do you mean?” Then it strikes Bruce. “The man in red? How?”

“Someone did this to him. I…Bruce. Little boys go to school. They play with their friends and they go to bed at night. And I—” Clark cuts himself off. Bruce swore he could hear Clark clenching his fists. He could certainly imagine the expression of righteous indignation and sorrow mixed on his face. He’s seen the look before.

Bruce doesn’t remind him that not all young kids have friends or homes. That some started on their paths at a very young age. Clark doesn’t need the reminder. He knows. But it was Clark’s desire to see every child get to _be_ a child, even knowing they couldn’t, that made him, well, him.

“How do you know?” he repeats, softer than usual, after he’s given the other man a moment to collect himself.

“I saw lightning in uptown. I followed it. Sivana is here. I saw, I saw him transform.” 

“Where are you?” he asks, already heading down to the cave so that he can pull up any newsfeeds.

“I’m outside a winter carnival.” A pause and then Clark speaks, but it isn’t to him. “Go! Get in your cars and drive. It’s not safe.”

After a few moments, Clark is back with him. “I’m trying to get the area cleared. But I can’t help the people in the park unless I become Superman.”

“Don’t,” Bruce says sharply. “Not yet.”

“He’s just a kid.”

Bruce sighs. He’s pulled up several feeds on the terminal and so far, there’s few visuals, just twitter hashtags that are rapidly trending, and some amateur iPhone footage being streamed. In one, he sees a Ferris wheel tilting. He catches a glimpse of something dark and fast before screams begin to rise and the footage ends.

“He’s a kid with fantastic powers. Watching the YouTube videos, I’d say he rivals you in some respects. We’ve got to wait it out. See what he can do.”

“I don’t like it,” Clark responds, voice terse. There’s some more background noise, a lot of wheels peeling out as the other man continues to direct citizens away from the scene.

“It’s his city.”

Clark bites out, “What is it with you and your insistence on maintaining borders? I see no lines when it comes to saving people.”

“Clark, I know you. If you really think he doesn’t have a handle on it, I trust your judgment. But maybe this is what we can give him – freedom with a safety net. What we’re trying to do with Barry and Victor.” Bruce pauses. “What I didn’t give you.”

The other man is quiet for a long minute. When he speaks again, his voice quavers the slightest bit. “Yeah.”

Bruce wonders if it’s because Clark agrees, or because Clark’s head is nearly three years back in time, remembering their fight; if it still shakes him. 

He wonders if Clark has ever had nightmares about that day. About being dead. Bruce knows he does. Even now: one second coming, one Steppenwolf fight, three years later, when they’re comfortable enough with one another to speak casually on the phone. His mind is still haunted with images of a cruel Superman who turns into Clark grasping at a spear sticking out of his chest asking him _why_ , over and over as he crumbles into dust as Bruce helplessly watches.

He shakes himself out of his reverie when a new feed from WGN pops up. It looks like the same reporter who had interviewed the Captain the day before after the bus scare has made her way to the local carnival. He mutes the audio but watches the video. It’s shaky and he can tell the crew is trying to stay out of the line of fire while still getting decent images. Mostly, he sees images of civilians hiding behind buildings, being chased by what he’s going to assume are the personification of the seven deadly sins Diana mentioned. They’re quite grotesque, though he supposes they would fit in with Gotham’s gargoyles well.

“Talk to me, Clark,” he says, eyes continuing to scan the various feeds on the terminal. One word in particular is going viral. Shazam. It’s definitely associated with the events going on, but he can’t parse the context.

Not until: “—Great Caesar’s ghost.”

Then, in the background, Bruce hears a chorus of voices call out “Shazam!” and he hears what sounds like the crack of thunder right above Clark’s head.

“There’s more of them,” Clark hisses, and frankly, Bruce is mentally wheeling from Clark’s antiquated swear and the bright bolt of lightning that cuts out the WGN feed for a moment before it pops back up, that he doesn’t even register what he’d just been told until there’s a blue man flying and a flash of purple across the screen.

By that point, he’s distracted by the sight of the Ferris wheel in the background of the shot beginning to tilt precariously. He thinks he sees one of the sins attack it before the man in blue is seen in the sky. He appears to be wearing the same white cape as the Captain has been.

“Clark, the wheel—” he starts, and he thinks from the fabric sounds he hears across the communicator that Clark is right there with him and then he sees another hero, this time in what appears to be green suddenly holding up and even pushing the ride back into place.

“There’s six total,” Clark continues, as though he hadn’t nearly been ready to dash in as Superman. “The original, he and Sivana are separating.”

“Stay,” Bruce says, though he knows Clark doesn’t need to be told. Superman will always be where the civilians are.

Bruce continues to keep the line open, listening to Clark continue to find civilians and get them out of the park. He watches the feed, blurry as it is and clearly not catching each of the five individuals still left battling sins. He doesn’t comment when Alfred comes up behind him, watching the terminal screen with him.

It’s hard sitting on his hands like this, and he imagines even harder for Clark who is on scene, yet in a relatively short amount of time, he’s greeted with the sight of civilians applauding six caped heroes who look like their own cheesy version of Disney’s Hercules. He knows, from Clark’s comments earlier that these are six children in adult bodies and seriously, he hates magic.

When the reporter begins interviewing a Santa Claus, he switches it off, though the twitter, Facebook, and YouTube feeds remain scrolling in the background. He may not know it yet, but the hero has finally earned a name by the public: Shazam. Bruce knows nothing about the kid that is this magical hero, but he suspects he’ll take to it better than Power Boy.

There’s been no words from Clark for some time, but the line is still open.

“I think you can come ho-back,” he corrects himself, refusing to flush under Alfred’s pointed stare.

There’s a weighted pause.

“Clark Kent will be back at the Planet tomorrow. But I think it’s time Superman meets this hero. As an emissary of the League. As a friend.”

Though his tone remains the same, Bruce can hear the question regarding the League comment. His voice is steel when he says friend, though.

“I concur,” he responds. “Batman, out.”

He and Alfred sit in silence after he disconnects.

Eventually, his friend says, “Magic, hm. I do hope you reached out to Miss Zatara and apologized.”

Alfred turns to leave the cave, one foot on the steps up. He gives Bruce a side-eyed glance and he can hear the smirk in his voice, even if his butler’s face is as stoic as ever. “You know, Master Wayne. The Commissioner’s Ball is next week. _She’d_ be another excellent candidate to take as your date.”

Bruce groans and lets his head drop into his hands.

Insufferable matchmaking man.


	2. After Credits Scene

Clark follows them back to an old Victorian that’s roof has seen better days, but that he can tell is filled with love and warmth. He watches as six costumes shout out Shazam! and become five teenagers and one barely middle school aged girl. A young couple, surely barely older than Clark, open the door when the oldest teen knocks and the woman squeaks, holding out her arms. The man smiles, proud and relieved as six kids nearly knock the woman over with their hugs.

It causes Clark’s heart to ache with happiness. 

He waits outside, not actively listening in, but smiling when he catches what seems like a family tradition at the dinner table.

He catches a scream for help outside the city and then hears a lake begin to crack in Minnesota where someone brought out their ice house too early for the unseasonable warm winter there and by the time Clark makes it back to the Victorian in Philadelphia, it’s almost midnight. 

There’s a boy leaning out a second story window though, looking up at the stars.

“Billy Batson,” Superman says, hovering down to the level of the second story window.

“Superman?!” the kid squeaks. “Are you—? Is this for real? Is it really you? Holy shit, Superman knows my name!”

Clark allows himself a smile more Clark than Superman to come over his face. “You did a good job today. You saved a lot of lives.”

The brown-haired boy’s eyes widen, and he looks faint. “Superman just complimented me. Wait till I tell Freddy. Oh, he’s going to be so mad he’s sleeping through this.”

“Billy,” Clark says, serious now. “I need to know. Are you okay? Was this forced on you?”

“Forced? Oh, you mean my _powers_.” He gestures to where the lightning bolt would be if he was in costume.

Clark waits him out.

“I mean, sorta? There was this old wizard and I guess he was dying or something and he asked me to, and didn’t really give me a choice but,” he pauses. “I think I’m okay with it? I mean, I’ve got my family, now, too. It’s not just me. It’s still real weird and still super new, but. Yeah. I’m okay, big blue. Er, Superman. Mr. Superman! I’m sorry!”

Clark tries to stifle his laughter while the kid flops his upper body out the window dramatically as he moans, “Freddy is going to kill me.”

He clears his throat. “In that case, the League would like to extend an invitation. Should you ever want our help, or want to join, we’ll be here.” He offers the boy a business card; Bruce had crafted them exactly for this purpose, though having some kind of hotline had been Barry’s idea. “And I, well. You’re young. I am glad to see you have a loving home, support. For both your personas. But should you ever need, want, a mentor. I’d like to help, as best I can.”

“Yeah, I do, don’t I?” Billy muses, seemingly to himself. He glances back inside, and Clark can see the small boy sleeping on the lower bunk.

Billy suddenly turns, as though he’s afraid Clark is about to leave. “Hey, hey, Superman. Can I ask you a favor?”

Clark smiles.


	3. After After Credits Scene

When Clark walks down the steps in the cave, Bruce is already prepared, leaning oh-so-casually against the desk in his light grey suit pants and vest. He’s recently returned from an early morning board meeting. He holds up an issue of _The Philadelphia Inquirer_. A picture above the fold, clearly taken by an amateur, shows a small, curly-haired boy situated in awe between two large symbols: one the sigil of the House of El, the other a symbol of the Council of Eternity. The headline proclaims: _Heroes Sit With Fawcett Central Students For Lunch After Philadelphia Attack_.

He watches as Clark, wearing a navy-blue blazer with elbow patches and his bulky black frames that fail to hide his good looks, blushes and actually shuffles his feet.

“I agreed to inviting him to meet the League. Not for you to join him in – what is it? – ah, yes, Fawcett Central’s lunchroom cafeteria.”

“He’s just a kid, Bruce. He wanted to surprise his best friend.”

“Hmmph,” Bruce snorts. Batman is annoyed, of course, but deep down, Bruce is amused. Superman taking time out of his day to sit down and impress a high schooler’s bullies is such a Clark Kent thing to do.

“Alright. Let’s talk about the Commissioner’s Gala in three days. It’s five days before Christmas and Gotham crime leaps during this time of year. But Bruce Wayne needs to attend…”

He drops the newspaper as they begin to discuss the logistics of Clark Kent, reporter, and Diana Prince, museum curator, and how they plan to keep Harvey Dent and Catwoman from upsetting the festivities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow and chat with me [on tumblr](http://mf-luder-xf.tumblr.com)!


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